Mordred's Reckoning
by MadameMorganLeFay
Summary: The Druid and Knight is keen to understand the mysteries that surround him, especially concerning Emrys. Oneshot.


**Mordred's Reckoning **

* * *

Morgana always showed up, one way or another.

In fact, Mordred thought wryly, her frequent appearances on their expeditions were getting a little repetitive; she was losing her touch. Perhaps she was tiring a little of the rigour of dramatic effect, and wanted to cut straight to the chase, especially as killing Arthur was proving to be work in progress- or five whole other kettles of squealing, rebellious fish, whichever. On that thought, Mordred found a stray, inappropriate smile coasting over his face. Underneath it all, however, he was glad that he had chosen to side with King Arthur. Looking at Morgana now as she glided about the crystal cavern, preening and mocking her other brother, he could feel nothing but a wistful regret, a whisper of an alternate path that would have avoided the jaded, lonely caricature Morgana had become. Well, he reconsidered, cocking his head to the side as she shot a glance at a glaring Merlin, she could have been a lot worse; her hair was still lustrous, though tangled and hopelessly dishevelled, her face had grown taut and pinched with simmering hatred, but there were still tiny hints her former, softer beauty lurking behind snide smirks and merciless sneering.

He tried hard not to roll his eyes as she launched into another slew of verbal attacks Arthur, even though his heart was pounding at an insane rate and he wondered whether he would leave this latest debacle alive. She sounded so very like a serpent, human coils poised and ready to strike. The very notion was enough to send a trickle of icy, liquid fear careering down the back of his spine.

What are you planning now, sister? He scrutinised her eyes as though he might glean some clue that might save his life, Arthur's... even Merlin's. On a whim, the Druid gazed at Emrys, wondering what tortured thoughts crossed his mind. Belatedly, when detached, unfriendly eyes swung his way, a hostile question and insulting suspicion all-too evident within their endless depths, Mordred realized that he had, once again, been projecting his thoughts into Merlin's mind. He had promised himself that he would stop, over and over- but it was just too easy to embrace their connection and speak to the warlock as though they were... accustomed to each other. Maybe that was actually the case, even though Emrys hid a heart of withered stone within his body, and shunned his kin at every turn...

* * *

"And you... you actually dare to face me again?"

Mordred's head spun round abruptly and he was facing the woman he had last seen half-buried under a mound of snow whilst her beloved Aithusa whined piteously in the distance. Despite everything, a noticeable stab of regret flitted through his body as he glimpsed a violent purple bruise near her hairline, suspiciously close to where she had struck the ground. Had he hurt her? He actually was a little incredulous to note that such brutality had not been his intention, regardless of his genuine moral objections to everything Morgana represented.

He tore his gaze away to Arthur, who was regarding him with a mixture of concern and curiosity- the first was flattering, the second understandable. He had never told his King why Morgana had not managed to trail them back through those rugged, snow-ridden mountains- he didn't want any attention for using magic, and in any case, he had the impression that Arthur... sort of knew, even though he had said nothing. Throughout the weeks by the King's side, he was surprised at how much Arthur could see and perceive, though he never seemed to let on, giving him the unfair reputation of appearing blissfully oblivious to the point of hopeless ignorance. He recalled times when Arthur's eyes had grown pensive when looking at Merlin, or when he himself would glance up to realize he was the object of intense, unsettling scrutiny. Still, Arthur said nothing. Mordred wondered whether he suspected, entertained any kind of theory... even knew for definite. Only time would tell.

Right now, he would somehow have to bluff his way out of Morgana's clutches.

"On the contrary, it is you who dares to face us again," he replied evenly, keeping the waver in his voice to a minimum.

She seemed to slither and slide as she wound her way through conical stalagmites and dodged consistent drips of water, clearly headed towards him. A surge of adrenalin coursed through rigid veins, every limb in his body ordered to him to run and save his poor soul from this vengeful Fury, but to Arthur and Merlin, it appeared that Mordred was standing his ground exceedingly well. Too well, Merlin added unkindly in his head after catching himself feeling... impressed at the young Knight's bravery. Arthur did not withhold his gratitude for his youngest and perhaps favourite recruit- no matter what Morgana was accusing him of (which he had a funny feeling involved magic), he would not allow his sister to terrorize this reserved, mysterious boy who had become his friend.

"Is that so?" Morgana lisped, her question punctuated by serpentine sibilance. "Is. That. So."

Run!

Arthur stepped forward cautiously. "Morgana, your quarrel is with me. Leave him alone."

"Ha! You cannot tell me what to do, Arthur... I am a High Priestess, you an impostor. And where did this spirited defence of Mordred come from? Have you bothered to hear me out, understand why I am outraged that he has shown up again within my sights? Trust him enough to cover his back? Really, Arthur- who is covering yours... without a shield of monstrous lies. Hey- why don't you tell him, Mordred; he is your King, and deserves the truth, does he not? What? Afraid you will lose the crimson and gold, the salary, the chambers, the-"

"That's not why he is a Knight," Merlin interrupted unexpectedly, and then withdrew into himself as three curious eyes swivelled in perfect unison onto his. "I-I mean... you lie, Morgana- as always."

* * *

The High Priestess threw him a withering glare that was infused with a touch of fascination. Merlin had always been a complex character, Mordred mused in the short respite he was allowed from Morgana's damning accusations- rather like himself. Open and yet reserved... Well, Merlin was rather more easygoing than himself, but they could both identify with carrying two persona's, one for the day, and one for the night. It was a trait that should have brought them closer together as kinsmen, not further apart... But Emrys would not have it that way, he reflected sadly. Yes, the thought did pain him once again- at least Merlin would never have the satisfaction of knowing that his coldness plunged spikes into his heart. It was another secret to keep, unless Emrys showed strains of the man he could be, like the man who was devoted body and soul to Arthur's well being, like the man who had just defended his integrity though he had nothing to gain from doing so...

"Well hello, Mer-lin," she drawled, rolling her tongue deliberately around the word. Mordred blinked before he realized that she gained some kind of perverse pleasure from saying his name- to the extent that he suspected... All of a sudden, visions of the old days danced into the back of his mind, the time when a frightened, sweaty, delirious young boy had been hidden behind rich drapes... He had been asleep most of the time, but there were moments where his eyes would flicker open to find his benefactors speaking in hushed tones. That was the first impression- but then he would look at them again and see fleeting, shared glances that were a little too intense to be merely friendly. Was he really seeing the same thing once more after all these years, after she had spurned him and taken up arms with hatred and revenge? Mordred looked to Merlin for an answer that he was not surprised to receive. He was taken aback, for a moment, before the potential of this revelation became clear- Emrys would not be so quick to treat him in such a high-handed fashion if he knew that Mordred knew he harboured resilient, unfathomable feelings for his nemesis, of all people. The Druid almost smiled.

Almost.

He was alert, and that was what saved his life. He saw the hex coming even before Morgana did. Without a second thought, he was flinging both arms back, countering a flash of green with an explosion of crimson tinged with gold. Like the cloak he wore- how ironic... yet how fitting. A giant arc materialised in the air, sparks dancing on the edges, and there was a consistent roar in the background, a thousand incantations that had been previously locked deep within the cavern walls being set free by the unprecedented burst of magical energy. He couldn't see straight ahead, but he could espy the tiny glimmers of green flaming arrows- no doubt Morgana's attempt to regain the high ground... One flew right past his ear and he felt a vague burn. Later, if he survived, that would have him gasping for air, writhing in pain. It didn't take long for him to think of every counter-hex he had ever been taught from the Druid elders, summoning them, channelling their powers and propelling them through the arc without so much as moving his mouth. Was it working? Or was the burning sensation increasing? Why didn't he know? He must continue the hexes... quickly... Mordred blinked as a green flash dissipated before his eyes. He was definitely feeling lethargic now, and his skin was piping hot. Soon his flesh would cook... Trust his diabolical sister to concoct the most humiliating, debilitating punishment for betraying her...

Well, this was it, then, wasn't it?

_Was_ it?

A movement from his left aroused him from eternal slumber. There was a clap of thunder and a wave of blue. A female scream. A male shout. His body being picked up and rushed out as several boulders of ice started to rain down with abandon. Wind whistled past his ears and the patter of footsteps provided a backdrop to his semi-consciousness. However long the running continued he didn't know- he wasn't expecting to live that long anyway. Slowly, so slowly his eyelids fluttered closed and the chasm closed in...

* * *

When his bruised eyes swung into focus, Emrys was regarding him with unwilling concern, perhaps trying to appear as anxious as Gaius, who bustled about around him, moving medical supplies from left to right, right to left, as if only for the purpose of ferrying objects around. With a start, he realized that he was lying inside the Court Physician's chambers and that the sunlight was searing into a fertile burn on his right arm. With a strangled gasp, he shifted over to his left only to feel a prickling burn there too. This wasn't good- just how badly hurt had he been? His eyes flickered back to Merlin, whose stoic expression remained set with a vengeance. No answers there, of course, Mordred remembered with a small sigh. even helpless and injured, Emrys was resolute. But he should have known that only Arthur mattered, he simply had not anticipated how this knowledge could not sit well with him. It was ridiculous, even. He had done virtually nothing to deserve to be treated like a pariah... How to break Emrys, though? How to unnerve him?

"Thank you, Merlin," he slurred as the answer came back to him in a silver flash of recollection. "You saved my life."

"I saved _Arthur's_ life," the warlock corrected him curtly, but Mordred saw a hint of indecision in his eyes, saw how his fingers twitched uncomfortably.

"Arthur was closest to the escape... He could have escaped just before Morgana threw that hex. I was in the firing line, and you intervened. Do you deny it?"

"I could hardly allow the King's favourite Knight to just drop dead, now, could I?" Merlin had meant for his words to be sneering and spiteful, instead he spoke in a regretful stutter, and he was suddenly preoccupied with tending to a half-open phial, a thread on that ridiculous neckerchief, an invisible spot on his finger... Mordred studied him carefully, as he was wont to do when someone fascinated him. Merlin was lying; he had deliberately saved his life... but why? He had been so sure that he was held in scant regard by this elusive warlock- to have his preconceptions spun around on its head was confusing. What was that tone of slight remorse he thought he could detect in Emrys' voice, what was it that he wished he had not done, or did not have to do? Did it have something to do with him? Probably. He might never know.

But there was something else he could ask...

"Does Arthur know... about your magic?"

Merlin's eyes went through an interesting transition of emotions from hard, to soft to painfully bewildered, and for a moment, there was no reply.

"He does," came the soft reply.

"And?"

"He... He said that he understood," Merlin whispered in an uneven tone full of wonder, full of astonishment. As Mordred craned his neck to better view the other man, he noticed that the other man's eyes were wet... This was something new- Emrys had a heart, he mused to himself with some degree of relief. Maybe that was the answer to his conjectures, that Merlin had somehow lost a part of himself along the way that had resulted in this slavish devotion to King Arthur at the expense of everyone else.

"I do not have a "slavish devotion" to Arthur," Merlin snapped suddenly, and Mordred cursed under his breath, once again realizing that their thoughts were one. "That's rich coming from someone with a terrible future- I mean past..."

"A terrible future?"

Merlin looked away abruptly, once again distracted by that mundane phial. Mordred randomly noticed that the lingering scent of apples was coming from the tiny bottle, and that he must like it, seeing that he did not notice how he ached, stung and hurt everywhere. Ah... He saw Merlin's eyes flash gold every now and again, half-camouflaged by a ray of sunlight- the warlock was practicing a protection spell, to speed his recovery. Only he didn't want Mordred to know that he was doing so. Again, extraordinary for one so hostile.

"Slip of the tongue. You need to rest, anyway, so stop pestering me with questions."

* * *

"You're still here."

Merlin snorted and returned to reading the thick tome wedged in his hands. "You only slept for about half an hour."

"Don't you have chores for Arthur?"

That struck another chord, Mordred could feel it even as the words left his mouth. Merlin was now fiddling with his fingers nervously and dragging out the pause between the question and his unexpected response. The Druid wanted to feel impatient, wanted to jog Merlin into explaining himself, but he was fatigued, and could only lie quietly at Emrys' mercy. He watched as that interminable flicker of emotions crossed the warlock's eyes, and again he found himself questioning his own surmises over and over. Clearly nothing was as it seemed, clearly every action of this great warlock had a purpose, clearly... clearly he was shouldering some agonising burden that distorted the path that he had chosen. For the first time in a long while, Mordred felt sympathy for Merlin- not annoyed sympathy, or sarcastic sympathy, but the real deal, a silent acknowledgement of how difficult the warlock's life must be. Certainly that must be the reason that Arthur's acceptance had brought him to tears.

_You had lost hope._

"Could you _stop _doing that?"

"Sorry. I can't help it."

"Well try harder. And whilst you are at it, could you lie still- these protection spells don't work very well when the object is shifting from side to side."

"Try having burns all down your arms," Mordred retorted, a little fed up of Merlin's crankiness. "Once again, you are dodging the question; why aren't you with Arthur?"

Merlin's eyes grew softer again with a swell of brotherly affection. "He... He has actually given me a day off." A small, wry chuckle escaped lips that had been taut and drooping beforehand. "Finally."

"I'd have given you five years off," Mordred confessed, out of the blue. "You deserve it, even if you dislike me."

The restless fingers on page five hundred and seventy six of "Basick Anatomie" fell still, frozen into place. Merlin's eyes had a strange expression inside them, a mixture of foreboding and... something, was it gratitude? Mordred could not dare to hope that he had finally gotten through to Emrys' sensitivities, had finally cracked that unyielding shell and seen the hatchling who wanted to be free, but was bound by the invisible, cruel forces of Destiny. He could only vegetate and see what response he might receive.

"Arthur, he- he knows about your magic, too," Merlin resumed, apparently on another trend of conversation. "He... said that he had been overlooking it for a while."

"I knew it. He sees a lot more than he claims, doesn't he? I suppose he suspected about you too."

"Hm, yes." Did Emrys sound... sheepish? "Yes, he mentioned a few times when something bizarre had happened, and I was quote "looking far too innocent" for his liking."

"So much for secrecy, then."

Mordred saw a small smile creep across Merlin's face before it was hastily replaced by the usual line. The good times would only last so long, of course.

"You're in a critical condition, aren't you?" Merlin shot back sarcastically, but Mordred had to laugh at the juxtaposition in meaning, so Merlin quickly reverted his attention to his book, feeling secretly pleased. He had always been rather witty, and even exchanging a line with Mordred had brought some measure of satisfaction...

_Come on, Emrys; you know its funny._

"I said stop-"

"Yes, yes, right- sorry."

* * *

Hours that slipped by like sand through the hourglass of life were spent alternating between a feverish sleep and engaged in strange discourse with Merlin. It wasn't half bad, ignoring Merlin's deliberate attempts to remain stubborn, detached and continually rude. The warlock did have a rather enjoyable sense of humour, as Arthur had once confided with a fond smile. Speaking of whom, the King had been quietly delighted to see that his Knight would recover pretty quickly, especially with the aid of magic. Each had been full of apologies- one for years of prejudice and one for hiding their true identity for all this time. Arthur didn't seem very interested in his reasons for concealing his magic- probably because he had been expecting that it would come out and confirm his speculations one day- in his view, if Mordred was going to live, then the matter was closed. Merlin was actually smiling a little, but only at the King. Well, of course, he wasn't worthy, the Druid thought to himself with a small grin.

_Mordred, I am not going to ask you again..._

_Alright, alright!_

* * *

"Mordred?"

"You're speaking to me now?"

"Don't hurt Arthur. Please don't." The plea was drawn out, heart-rending, desperate. Merlin still wouldn't look at him, but inside his head, Mordred could sense the fervency of the request, and it unsettled him. Why was he being singled out as a threat to Arthur when he had shown nothing but loyalty and kindness to one he genuinely believed was fully worthy of his benevolence? If only Emrys could drop the blinds obscuring his eyes and realize how unfair he was being...

"What are you talking about, you that I would never dream of betraying Arthur! He saved my life- you know that yourself! Why don't you trust me?"

"The Fates..." Merlin trailed off infuriatingly once more- obviously he thought he had said too much because Mordred was not able to penetrate his mind and extricate the missing piece of dialogue. He hissed, frustrated whilst Merlin stared at a vague point on the wall in front of him, unperturbed and yet unnerved. "He is my best friend, and I don't want to lose him."

"I know that-"

"So, just... watch yourself. And that is the end of the conversation."

However, even after that abrupt halt, Mordred and Merlin still found themselves talking occasionally- a random topic would crop up, mostly in Mordred's mind, and they would exchange stilted discourse on it. It was... disjointed, but, he would be lying if he claimed that there was nothing... peaceful about the whole arrangement. Even from the Court Physician's room, he could hear the normal sounds of life from a nearby window. The smell of delicious stew wafted from the caverns of Gaius' cooking pot into his nose, making his stomach growl in delighted anticipation. Much as he hated to admit it, Merlin's continual presence in the room was of some comfort- indeed, he kind of felt remotely grounded, which seemed right- the young Druid being protected by the great Emrys. Like it or not, that was where their rocky past had led them, this was the inevitable capitulation he was reckoning with. He didn't mind- and it wasn't as though Merlin had outright refused to help him heal from his burns. No, indeed, Emrys had shown him nothing but kindness, even when wrapped in the shroud of snide insults and icy glares. Wasn't that right, though? The prophecy showed him to be the great unifier of all peoples, especially of magic in Albion. This was his destiny, what he was supposed to do, to help, protect and serve. For all his faults, he had a good heart, just like Arthur.

On that note, Mordred slipped back into sleep once more, tired, but satisfied.

* * *

I haven't ever written a whole one-shot based on Mordred, so I would be interested to know how this one looks.


End file.
